Negotiations
by HeayPuckett
Summary: Sherlock is a very logical being, except when he's not. He's discovered the horrifying fact that sentiment has a calming effect on his thought processes and this leads to another discovery in the form of one Molly Hooper. Unfortunately, Molly Hooper is not impressed with his reasoning. Let the negotiations begin! Not your normal "get together" fic. Post-HLV; No Spoilers.
1. Chapter 1: Negotiations

John Watson sat comfortably in his old chair, his new wife perched on the arm beside him. He was feeling more than a bit nostalgic at the moment, surrounded as he was by all of the loud patterns, comfortably mis-matched furniture and general clutter. There was also the caged panther pacing from one end of the room to the other, also known as Sherlock Holmes.

It had been a long time since John had been in a position to see Sherlock in such an agitated state. Mary had insisted they visit that day for this very reason. John, although always (almost always) happy to see Sherlock, had a feeling this might not have been the right day for a friendly catch-up. He was proved right when he heard someone leaning on the door bell and simultaneously banging on the door downstairs.

Mrs. Hudson's surprised shout could be heard just before the sound of someone running up the stairs. In a few moments, Molly Hooper, her hair in a state and her lab coat flapping behind her flung herself into 221B's sitting room.

"What is it?" She gasped, "What's wrong?"

"Ah, Molly," Sherlock said spinning to face her, "thank you for coming." With that, Sherlock Holmes did the most shocking thing John Watson had ever watched him do.

He kissed Molly Hooper.

From their standpoint by the fireplace, all John and Mary could see of Molly was two arms flailing. John heard a rather embarrassing noise and was shocked to realized it came from Mary. The look on his wife's face was completely indescribable and totally priceless. It also summed up John's own feelings nicely. John looked back when Molly disentangled herself from Sherlock. She looked angry.

"Stop doing that!" Molly stamped her foot for emphasis.

"I couldn't think straight," Sherlock said, no trace of apology present, "I needed to calm my mind."

"You can't just snog the living daylights out of me whenever you need to calm you mind!"

"Wait, _whenever_- You've done this before?" a stunned John asked Sherlock.

"Would you prefer I go back to the drugs, Molly?" Sherlock shouted, "because I certainly can't continue like _this_!"

"Then take a case!" Molly countered, "That's what you normally do, isn't it?"

"There aren't any cases," Sherlock was back to being manic, throwing his hands up in frustration, "Don't you think I've tried?!"

"Well, actually," John was about to put in, but received a none-too-gentle punch in the arm from his significant other.

Sherlock hadn't bothered to pause in his tirade, tossing unopened mail and newspapers about, "There's nothing! London has become pathetically void of crime worthy of my effort! I'm BORED. And when I'm bored, very bad things happen. Like violence, mayhem and me with a needle in my arm!"

"And when, exactly, did you find out that snogging Molly Hooper had the same effect as shooting heroine?" John had to ask, fully expecting to be ignored. He wasn't disappointed.

Molly huffed out an unintelligible word, then took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself, "You can't just call and put me in a panic so that you can kiss me. I left work, Sherlock! You can't just go around snogging me senseless when ever you feel like it," Sherlock started to make a comment, but Molly cut him off, "No. Sherlock, you know how... you know what I feel for you, please don't pretend otherwise. Kissing me like that, well, it's not not appropriate in any way." Her voice had deflated over the course of her little speech and she ended in a wobbly whisper. "and it's...It's not _fair_ to get what you need and leave me with more dashed hopes."

Sherlock was quiet for several seconds. Straightening up, his face mophed from his I've-been-a-naughty-boy-without-realizing-it to his I-see-potential-in-this look.

"What would be fair?"

"What!?" the outcry came from Mary, not Molly. All three of the other occupants of the room looked at her. Mary grabbed the chair cushion and stuffed a corner in her mouth.

"What would be appropriate conditions under which I can indulge in a bit of a snog whenever I feel like it."

"It would be slightly more appropriate if you were my boyfriend, and-" Molly started.

"Fine. I'm your boyfriend."

Molly sighed, "_And_ even then it wouldn't be appropriate -or even practical- all of the time."

Sherlock got a shrewd look on his face, "All right, I can kiss you when I want 95% of the time, but you owe me a 5% boon in another area."

"60%. It will almost never be appropriate for you to kiss me at work and I almost always see you at work. And the other 40% will depend on the boon," she finished suspiciously. "I'm giving you as much access to the research cadavers as I'm legally allowed."

"Not the kind of boon I mean, although..." Sherlock shook his head, "No. If I exponentially increase the amount of time we see each other away from St. Bart's then the percentage should increase. 95%"

"70%, but you have to take me out at least once a week. And by out, I mean proper dates."

"Dates?"

John snorted at the look of panic on his friend's face. Mary gave his shoulder a shove even as she made a noise of sympathy. After a moment of consideration, Sherlock resumed negotiations, carefully not looking at John.

"If I'm going to be expected to escourt you to view the sentimental slog that passes for entertainment and similar things, then I'm afraid I will have to insist on 99%."

"I don't like rom-coms. The cinema's not really my idea of a proper date."

Sherlock looked well and truly confused as he finally shot a glance towards Mary and John. Mary took the cushion out of her mouth long enough to say, "Every couple is different, Sherlock. You and Molly will enjoy different things."

"Exactly," Molly sent Mary a grateful smile, "you don't have to research what other couples do, Sherlock. You can take me to the symphony or the ballet, or a midnight walking tour of Whitechapel or to that restaurant that serves fried tarantula. The object is to spend time with me, away from work and, more importantly in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with a case." Molly took a breath and squinted at him, "80%."

Sherlock considered her counter offer, "We choose dates that won't defeat the purpose by making me even more bored than ever-"

"As long as it doesn't have to do with a case. And you have to agree to celebrate at least two special occasions."

"All right. How about this: we have dates once a week, celebrate two special occasions, of my choice,"

"Mutual choice."

Sherlock sighed, "Dates once a week, two special occasions to be determined, I get face time as often as I wish 90% of the time AND you have to wear your hair down the other 10%."

"Practical and appropriate, Sherlock."

"Fine, you have to wear your hair down whenever you aren't at work and we are together."

Molly narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded and smiled as she held out her hand, "Deal."

Sherlock took her hand and pulled her in for another kiss. This time Molly wasn't so quick to disentangle herself. In fact, her hands seemed awfully preoccupied with Sherlock's curles before falling to his shoulders and heaving the tall man back a step. Sherlock made a growling noise.

"You're already breaking the agreement!"

Molly rolled her eyes, "I'm supposed to be at work, Sherlock! We aren't in your 90%!" She grabbed the bag she had abandoned at the door when she rushed in and started down the stairs.

Sherlock followed, quizzing her on her shift and when his designated time would start. Having bullied her into agreeing to take a cab straight from work back to the flat, he walked back in, hands in pockets, looking very pleased with himself. Mary, who had really dipped into her reserves to stay out of that little bit of live theatre, squealed in delight. Her eyes were wide as saucers and filled with an almost manic joy. She shared a brief look with her husband before flinging the cushion away and dashing down the stairs, presumably to grab Molly for a "girls' chat" about what just happened. If Mary had her way, Molly would not be making it back to work anytime soon. John could faintly hear his wife yelling to Mrs. Hudson to put on the kettle.

Sherlock smoothed his hair and strolled back over to his chair. John waited a beat after Sherlock flopped down and said, "I can not believe that worked."

Sherlock grinned, "It did go rather well, didn't it?"

"You do know how lucky you are right?"

"Lucky," Sherlock scoffed, "Luck had nothing to do with it. I had a well thought out plan and it worked."

John sing-songed, "Luck-y"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and went into explanation mode, "I knew your suggestion of 'talking' to Molly about my desire to enter into a romantic arrangement would never work for two reasons: one, I don't 'talk' about 'feelings.'"

John could hear the quotation marks. He shrugged and made a noise of agreement.

"Molly knows this and would immediately be worried that something was genuinely wrong with me." John snorted. Sherlock ignored this and continued, "Plus, I'm afraid my... less than chivalrous behaviour towards Molly in our past interactions has made her rather wary of my sincerity. I merely devised a plan in which the parameters of our evolving relationship seemed to be set by Molly herself, allowing me to get what I wanted, and Molly to believe she has the upper hand in our romantic partnership."

"Oh, she has the upper hand," John said with a bright smile, "and now that she's your girlfriend, you will never have the upper hand again."

"Nonsense," Sherlock said. John smiled fondly at the complete naivete of his friend. Sometimes he felt like a dad helping his pre-pubescent son navigate the strange new waters of sentiment. John smiled and picked up the newspaper, shaking it out as he said, "You keep telling yourself that when you're holding her purse at a boutique or taking her cat to the vet."

Floating up the stairwell from the vicinity of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen was the faint sound of feminine laughter. John was pleased to see Sherlock look a bit disturbed.


	2. Chapter 2: Contractual Obligations

...because even Steven Moffat said that Molly _always_ wins.

* * *

The texts had started earlier than even John had thought. Sherlock must have begun complaining in the cab on the way to the shop. What was Molly thinking, dragging Sherlock along to go dress shopping? Then again, John had, with his own ears, heard Sherlock insist that it was not a problem. That it would, in fact, be more convenient to accompany Molly so that they could continue straight on to the lab afterward. Well, it was barely two hours later and Sherlock's texts had already become so desperate that Mary had suggested John go lend moral support. John waived off the idea as unfair -Mary pulled the mommy card when he suggested she go and he stay with their newborn daughter- but then, the texts stopped suddenly. Not so much as a bleep for a quarter of an hour. Even Mary was worried after that.

And that, kids, is how a mildly panicked Captain John Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers found himself fearfully searching a quirky retro/vintage resale boutique looking for Sherlock Holmes. It was definitely a _unique_ dress shop, John decided, full of cheerful prints, loads of color and the hint of modesty that one could only find in clothes from forty years ago or more. It was all very Molly. He made his way through the crowded shop, trying desperately not to make eye contact with any of the saleswomen or other shoppers. Not that he was ashamed of being in a ladies' dress boutique, but... well, yes he was, but needs must, he supposed. Plus it was slightly his fault, or rather the baby's fault, as Molly was buying a new dress to wear to the youngest Watson's christening.

When he finally spotted Sherlock, John couldn't help a sigh of relief. The radio silence hadn't been the result of death or destruction, but rather Sherlock deciding to visit his mind palace. As John rounded a display table, he saw something that made him choke.

"_What is that_?" John spluttered, plopping into a chair facing Sherlock. Apparently Sherlock was not too deep in his mind palace, either that or John's voice was as loud as he feared, and Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Be more specific," Sherlock said, as though John had been sitting across from him during the entire ordeal. Perhaps Mind-Palace-John had been. One never knew with Sherlock. In any case, John repeated his question.

"What is what?" Sherlock sounded slightly annoyed.

"That," John said, pointing even though Sherlock had his eyes closed again.

Sherlock sighed. "What are you on abo-" he stopped abruptly, eyes having fallen on the thing. "John," Sherlock said, voice devoid of emotion, "what is this?"

John smirked, "That's what I was asking you." He really wanted to snap a photograph to show Mary, but he had forgotten his mobile.

Sherlock's face hardened in that way that intimidated the most hardened criminals. "Molly Hooper!" he roared.

"Yes?" Molly popped out from behind a curtain that probably led to the changing area, "Oh, hi John!" she greeted the older man with a lovely, wide smile as she came to stand by Sherlock's chair. "Did he get bored? I warned him, but-"

"_What. Is. This _?" Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth as he held his arm out to display the offending object hanging from it.

"My purse," Molly said a little sheepishly, "I needed a place to leave it while I tried on a few things, remember?"

"Yes! and I remember saying_ 'no'_ when you asked if I would hold it!" Sherlock was still seething. Molly, to her credit and John's admiration, was not the least bit intimidated.

"But you went to your mind palace! I knew I would be quick and you wouldn't have even noticed if John hadn't disturbed you -cheers, John."

"No worries."

"And I don't see what's so bad about holding a bag for a bit." Molly's tone was as reasonable as before. Sherlock's wasn't.

"In future, Molly Hooper, I will thank you not to use me as your personal coat rack. I am not the keeper of your purse, cat or any other unnatural thing you need to pass off to others in order to perform simple tasks."

"I'm sorry," Molly leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. As she did so, she retrieved her credit card from her purse. "I'll just go pay for this and then we can go. We can stay at the lab as long as you like," Molly added by way of apology.

"Fine," Sherlock said, still stiff, but not rebuffing the kiss or the brush of Molly's fingertips across his cheek as she left to go make her purchase. She wasn't in a position to see the softening of Sherlock's expression as he watched her walk away, but John was.

"You've got it bad, my friend."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about you letting Molly have the upper hand. Don't feel bad. It happens to all of us eventually."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock said strongly, "I've made my position on this matter very clear. Molly knows that there are limits to what I will tolerate. It won't be happening again."

"You think that?"

"_I know that!_"

"Yeah, that speech would have been more impressive if you weren't still holding her purse."

_"MOLLY!"_

* * *

I considered posting this as another story, but it only exists because a lovely reviewer mentioned wanting to see Sherlock holding Molly's purse. I couldn't scrub the image out of my brain.


	3. Chapter 3: Injunction

Set in a vague post-HLV future where everything is Sherlollipops and Rainbows. Continuing my slightly crackish take on what a relationship between Sherlock and Molly might entail. Poor John is my avatar in these one-shots. This one is a bit soppy. Sorry.

* * *

John Watson reluctantly accompanied a moody Sherlock Holmes back to the latter's flat at 221B Baker Street. It wasn't that John didn't want to visit with his old friend, or share some take away after the case they had just solved, but given what Sherlock was determined to do, John could not muster much enthusiasm for his friend's company. Still, he couldn't in good conscience leave him alone, either.

The last case was a good one. Not brilliant, but a solid six. It would have been a great way to spend a few days with his old friend had the outcome not turned into something so disconcerting. Even more disconcerting was Sherlock's reaction to the sudden turn of events. John had rarely seen Sherlock so out of sorts and it worried the doctor greatly.

His worry increased exponentially when, upon arriving at the flat, they learned from Mrs. Hudson that Molly was waiting for Sherlock upstairs. Normally, John would be delighted to see his best friend's girl (_future daughter-in-law_, Mary liked to say cheekily), but today it only proved that the universe was conspiring against Sherlock Holmes and any shred of happiness he might find.

Molly was sitting tucked up on Sherlock's sofa, her shoes abandoned haphazardly by the door and her feet burrowed into the cushions. She was engrossed in what looked to be a professional pathology journal. She looked like a little kid sitting there, all sparkly and cheerful. John's heart squeezed painfully at the thought of what was about to happen.

The woman in question turned to smile at the duo as they entered the flat.

"Hello! Finished the case then?"

Sherlock was already pacing around a bit and left it to John to answer. He glanced Sherlock's way then nodded, "Yes. Yes, all solved."

"Interesting one? Or of the Official Secrets variety? One of these days I'm going to make Mycroft tell me about what you boys get up to on those cases."

John smiled and chuckled, but it was half-hearted at best. "Oh, you know," John said with false lightness, "the usual... just a bit of a surprise at the end."

Sherlock shot John a look. There was a shadow across the tall man's face that had gradually turned more thunderous as the minutes passed. He was agitated, but resolute at the same time. John took comfort in the fact that Sherlock had not adopted the cold, calculating mask he used when he needed to do something drastic. Maybe he would give up on this idea after all.

"What's wrong?" Molly's voice was calm, but worried. Perceptive as usual. She directed her question to John, but her eyes kept darting towards Sherlock.

John sighed. There was no way in hell he was going to bring this up. If Sherlock was determined to do something _that_ drastic based on a stupid _case_, then he would have to bring it up himself. Hopefully (if the idiot had a shred of common sense to combat his massive intellect), he would keep his big mouth shut.

But of course, this was Sherlock Holmes, who never met a self-destructive tendency he didn't like.

"Is this about the case? Did something happen?" Molly sat up abruptly, "Did one of you get hurt?" there was real panic laced in her voice and John stepped in.

"No, nothing like that. It's nothing _at all_, really, just," he shrugged, sending a glare Sherlock's way, "Sherlock being _Sherlock_."

Molly looked back and forth between them. She couldn't have missed the way John all but snarled that last bit. She certainly didn't miss the fact that Sherlock avoided making eye contact with her. He had no trouble making direct eye contact with John, however, and the doctor used that to send as many psychic messages to his friend as he could. None of which apparently made it through that thick skull considering what Sherlock said next.

"Molly, we need to talk."

"Oh, God. You're really going to do it, aren't you?" John growled.

"Isn't it kinder? After what we saw today-"

"NO!" John shouted, "It's stupid is what it is! Since when do you take personal cues from a bloody case?"

"Tell me what's going on," Molly reiterated. Her voice was forceful, but as calm as before.

Sherlock turned to look out of the window and started to speak, "Molly-"

"No," John seethed, "If you're determined to do this, then you bloody well owe it to her to look her in the eyes while you do it. Get over there."

Sherlock hesitated only a moment, but moved to sit on the sofa next to Molly. He still didn't look her in the eye, or John for that matter, but he did reach out and briefly brushed his fingers across Molly's knee.

"The case today... it was a bit unusual for me. Not the case, really. That was so simple, Lestrade could have handled it alone. It was the couple -our clients- they reminded me of someone. They reminded me of us."

"Really? How so?" Molly was smiling, but not her usual bubbly self.

"An absolute angel in love with a complete prat," mumbled John from across the room.

Sherlock glared in his general direction, but answered, "He was a hard man married to a kind woman, one who loved him. Unconditionally."

Molly smiled when Sherlock chanced a brief look in her direction. He took a breath and continued.

"They've been married for a very long time, quite happily by all accounts until she found out today that," Sherlock paused and swallowed, "that he didn't really love her. Never had, in fact, loved her."

John refused to look at Molly just then, but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen slightly. He would have done almost anything at that moment to stop what was happening, but knew it wouldn't do any good. Sherlock was determined that Molly not end up in the kind of anguish he witnessed from that heartbroken wife. In his own, emotionally dyslexic way, he was trying to protect her.

"He cheated on her?" Molly asked quietly, fearfully.

Sherlock looked puzzled by that, "Well, no. He's remained faithful. He's very kind to her, as far as I could deduce. Takes his commitment very seriously."

"But he told his wife he doesn't love her," Molly's voice was still calm, but there was a note of something else underneath that John couldn't quite identify.

"Yes. Sort of came out by accident. She was understandably devastated."

That was putting it mildly. The woman was so distraught, that John had felt the need to administer a sedative and have a friend sit with her. Sherlock, for a brief moment, had looked almost as wrecked as the woman. It had taken John a bit too long to figure out that Sherlock had seen Molly's future in the hysterical woman. By the time he had caught on, Sherlock had decided and no amount of arguing would dissuade him. Not even Mary had been able to make him see reason.

After several long minutes of silence, Sherlock finally looked at Molly. He seemed to be studying her features, committing them to memory. John was more exasperated than he had ever been in his life. Couldn't the clot _see_? No, of course not.

Sherlock's mouth twitched up at the corners for an instant. "You've been very good to me, Molly, better than I ever had the right to expect. Which is why I can't let things go on like this. I have to tell you something."

Molly was studying Sherlock's face intently, "Yes? Go on," she encouraged.

"I don't love you, Molly."

"Oh. Is that so?"

"Yes. I'm sorry." The only thing keeping John from nutting Sherlock was the fact that he did, in fact, sound truly sorry.

"Why are you sorry?" Molly asked and, bless her too-big heart, she sounded like she was keeping it together quite well. Better than John had thought she would. And if she felt the need to make Sherlock grovel, well, good on her. She did sound a bit more cheerful than John would have expected. Odd.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Molly," Sherlock said in a monotone, "For being unable to return your feelings."

"Yes you do."

"Do? Do what?"

"Return my feelings."

Sherlock looked disturbed "...no. I just told you-"

"That you don't love me," Molly finished cheerfully.

"Yes."

"No."

"No?"

"You do love me," and Molly said it with as much confidence as she would delivering a cause of death after a thorough autopsy, "Now, if that's all that you were worried about...?" When Sherlock didn't answer, Molly went back to her article.

Sherlock looked at John, who stared back. Of all the things John imagined happening, that was not at the top of the list. That wasn't even on the list. Either Molly Hooper was in the deepest state of denial fathomable, or she understood Sherlock Holmes better than he understood himself. John sat down heavily in his arm chair, a hand sliding over his mouth to hide the smile forming. Sherlock still looked gobsmacked.

"I'm serous, Molly," Sherlock said, a bit sharply, "It's better that we get this over with now before you get hurt."

Molly looked up from her journal and sighed, "Sherlock, do you enjoy spending time with me?"

"I don't see-"

"_No_," Molly said sharply, giving him a look, "No. Just answer the question. Do you enjoy being with me?"

"Yes. I find you quite intellectually stimulating and being close to you is physically pleasurable. Perhaps a bit too distracting on occasion, but you seem to know when I need space and allow for my needs in that area."

Molly nodded, "Yes, I understand why you need time alone. Just like you understand when I need to be around more people. Now. Do you regret becoming romantically involved with me?"

Sherlock paused as he thought. A lesser woman would feel hurt that he didn't respond immediately, but Molly appreciated his need to think things through. If John could have hand picked a partner for his best friend, there wouldn't have been a more brilliant choice than Molly Hooper.

"No," Sherlock finally answered, "No regrets about entering into a romantic partnership with you, but-"

"_No_. No 'buts.' You enjoy being with me, you appreciate me and you make an effort towards sustaining this relationship. I enjoy being with you, I appreciate you and the effort you make on my behalf. That's _all that matters_."

Sherlock and Molly stared at each other for several long moments, during which John barely breathed. He watched several emotions pass swiftly across his friend's face before seeing Sherlock's jaw set and his eyes narrow. John's heart sank. He knew that look and what it would mean for Molly. There was no possibility for this to turn out all right.

Molly, though, was having none of it. She reached forward slowly and touched Sherlock's cheek, her fingertips barely grazing the skin. Sherlock swallowed. He was getting ready to say something. Something idiotic and sure to blast it all to Hell. It was all John could do not to yell at the berk. The most frustrating part was that John knew that _Sherlock_ knew very well that he was trying to scuttle the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"You give me everything I want and need," Molly said softly, not giving Sherlock a chance to speak. "And I think I do the same for you, don't I?"

Sherlock nodded. John was beginning to see light at the end of this absurd tunnel.

"If you don't like calling that love, it's fine," Molly continued, "If the word 'love' makes you uncomfortable, then we won't use it. We don't have to label anything between us. We don't have to do anything but _enjoy_ what we give each other. I, for one, enjoy whatever-we-aren't-calling-this very, very much." Molly leaned forward and lightly brushed her lips against his, then pulled back and bestowed a beatific smile on a confounded Sherlock.

A happy Molly went back to reading her journal. Sherlock frowned into space, clearly trying to figure out what had just happened. After a moment, Molly wiggled her bare toes against Sherlock's leg. John was sorely pressed not to giggle as he saw Sherlock absently lean to the side long enough for Molly to stick her feet under his bum. Sherlock was already half gone (_yes, a visit to the Mind Palace is just what the doctor ordered, you git_) and fell silent, steepling his hands under his chin.

The couple presented such a picture of domesticity that John found himself grinning like an idiot. Pulling out his phone, John composed a text to his wife. Mary would be as happy as he to learn that Sherlock had not, in fact, ruined his life and that, yes, Molly Hooper still had the ability to shock the world's only consulting detective into complete and utter silence.

John got up to leave and planted a kiss on the top of Molly's head on his way out. She looked up and the two shared twin looks of complete understanding. The doctor had begun the day afraid that he would have to stand watch over a broken-hearted friend (well, two really) and ended up witnessing the marvel that was Molly Hooper's capacity to manage the great Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

So, I have a bit of a theme going with the titles relating to contract law. I hadn't really intended to expand on this specific story, but the titles keep coming to me and demanding to be used. The next one will be "The Cat Clause." Two guesses as to what it's about...


	4. Chapter 4: The Cat Clause

Last chapter (I think-I've run out of ideas) and my first real attempt at writing Mary Watson, who I adore (still and inspite of), but have been reluctant to write for fear of getting her personality wrong. Also, this ignores the time frame for Mary's pregnancy, primarily since I couldn't figure it out from the episodes. It's set post-HLV, post-whatever-Moffat/Gatiss-have-planned-for-series-4, but during Mary's pregnancy.

* * *

"Don't be silly. You get on really well with Toby."

Sherlock Holmes frowned suspiciously. He didn't recall having ever _met_ Molly Hooper's cat, let alone getting on "really well" with it. He gave his recently acquired romantic partner a long, assessing look. The cat- a miniature breed called appropriately enough, a _Napoleon_- was perched on a shoulder, under the drape of her long hair. Apparently, the small cat sat in the crook of Molly's neck like this anytime she was home. It was his favorite spot.

Unfortunately, it was also one of Sherlock's favorite spots.

Finding himself with a nose full of tiny cat hairs when he had impulsively bent over to kiss his significant other's neck was not a pleasant experience. He had growled and refused to apologize. He was trying to show _affection_, after all, unlike the dastardly cat who thought the world revolved around it. At Molly's declaration, the cat opened its eyes a fraction and tilted its head. Apparently it didn't remember 'getting on really well' either.

"Here," Molly said scooping the cat off of her shoulder. Any small thrill of victory Sherlock might have vaporized as Molly held the feline interloper out. Obviously, she expecting him to take the creature. When Sherlock pulled back, Molly frowned. Which was completely unfair as she knew perfectly well how appealing she looked when she scrunched her nose.

"Oh, come on," Molly insisted. To the cat's credit, he didn't start yowling as one might have expected. Toby simply hung suspended from Molly's hands, looking at Sherlock with an utterly bored expression. After a few long minutes, Sherlock gingerly took the cat, holding the tiny thing at arm's length. Sherlock could swear it rolled its eyes. Molly giggled. "Go on. You two get reacquainted while I make coffee."

When Molly came in twenty minutes later, she found Sherlock stretched out on her sofa and Toby stretched out along the back of the sofa. Ignoring each other, was it?. Well, that went better than she had hoped, considering the two men in her life had identical personalities- both lovable attention hogs who liked to have their heads scratched and curl up in Molly's lap. And both would be horribly insulted if she ever said that out loud.

After that evening, Sherlock and Toby did get on, but only in that vaguely tolerant way that occurs between two highly intelligent beings sharing a common interest. Their Molly had to be shared, there was no getting around that, so they worked on a sort of compromise. Sherlock didn't interfere with the daily feeding, petting, shoulder ritual and Toby didn't interfere with whatever it was the humans were doing behind that door they closed in his face. Other than that, Sherlock Holmes and Toby Hooper kept a respectable distance from each other.

* * *

Mary Watson levered herself up the last step to 221B Baker Street and huffed a breath. There were a lot of things she had enjoyed about being pregnant, but at one week to due date, she felt like an overburdened cruise ship trying to climb the stairs to Sherlock's flat. She ran a hand over her huge belly and sighed. She still wasn't convinced there weren't twins in there, at least.

Mary wouldn't be out at all if she hadn't been barmy from staying in during maternity leave. She decided that morning to check on Sherlock. As excuses went, it was a bit weedy, Mary had to admit. Molly had only left for the IAP conference in Thailand the day before, but Mary knew she need only plead hormones for her excuse to be accepted without question. Most women in the advanced stages became a touch homicidal, but Mary actually had the skill set to follow through, so John didn't question.

Mary stepped to the doorway, about to call out for Sherlock, when she caught sight of him sitting at the desk hunched over his laptop. Mary bit her lip to stop the squeal that threatened to erupt as she clambered for her phone. It flew out of her hand in her haste. Mary had to use her finely honed reflexes to catch it and take a quick photo before Sherlock even registered her presence.

"Mary," Sherlock said by way of greeting, "Should you be out? You're due soon. You can't possibly be comfortable."

"Oh, I'm fine," Mary said, her voice a little high from the strain of not laughing. She was currentlysending the photo she just took to everyone she could think of. "I needed to get out before I ended up off my trolley."

"Hm, well, have a seat." Sherlock said, not looking up, "Perhaps you could check the papers for anything interesting? I'm typing up my research findings, but I haven't had a case since yesterday. It's starting to become annoying."

"Sherlock, dear," Mary said with all the calm a highly trained former operative could muster (considering the fact she was about to swallow her tongue), "what is that on your head?"

Sherlock half turned, then stiffened, obviously remembering (finally) that he had Molly's cat draped over his head. Instead of answering, Sherlock carefully blanked his expression and asked, with a beautiful show of utter disregard for his situation, "Is John with you?"

Mary did snort at the note of panic in his too-casual question,"No," she started, then waited for him to let out a breath of relief before adding, "I sent him a pic, though."

That earned her a scowl, the effect of which was greatly diminished by the sight of Toby Hooper on his perch. The small cat had all four limbs hanging straight down off the side of the man's head, his face obscured by Sherlock's mop of curls and his tail coiled above the man's forehead. "So, did you kill him and turn him into a hat or is he asleep?"

"Asleep," Sherlock said carelessly. He didn't elaborate.

Mary took the opportunity to carefully maneuver herself into John's Chair (always referenced in capital letters) and squirmed until she found a comfortable spot. She allowed Sherlock a few more moments of silence, deciding whether to take the mickey out of him or just take more pictures.

"You're going to tell me eventually," she said, snapping another photo. This one showed Sherlock giving her a narrow eyed scowl. His head was tilted down just enough for Toby's little bum to be in the exact center of the picture. That one went straight to Molly. "Now, humour a poor preggie and tell Mary why you've got a cat on your head."

Sherlock sighed annoyed. "Fine. Toby has a schedule, which naturally, has been disrupted with Molly's departure. He was howling incessantly, so I tried to mimic some of Molly's routines with him."

"She lets Toby sit on her head?" Mary didn't know Molly that well yet, she had been more John's friend until recently, but she must admit to liking her more and more. How could you not like someone who let a cat ride on their head?

"Not exactly. She let's him ride on her shoulder," Sherlock gestured the the juncture of his neck and shoulder, "under her hair. I tried that, but it was too distracting." Mary nodded. Sherlock had tactile issues the likes of which she'd never seen before.

Sherlock continued. "The only thing I like attached to my neck is-

"-Molly."

"Exactly. We tried different things and this," he flapped his hand towards the sleeping cat, "was the only thing that worked. Although, I'm not convinced the cat isn't just playing me."

"They why did you let him do it?"

Sherlock shrugged, "It got him out from underfoot."

Mary smiled. "It's okay to like Toby, you know."

"Like? Don't be an idiot."

Toby's tail came down and swished against Sherlock's face. He rolled his eyes. "For pity's sake, Mary, don't feed it's ego."

"Said the man with a cat on his head."

"Oh go help yourself to some tea."

Mary just raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at her stomach.

"Oh. Right. Equilibrium issues at the moment. Shifted center of gravity. You're never getting yourself out of that chair, you know," Sherlock nodded and stood, removing Toby in the process. He did so with more care than Mary was used to seeing from him and it made her smile. He handed the cat to her and she snuggled it while Sherlock put the kettle on.

"How did Molly manage to convince you to take him while she was gone, anyway? I thought she was going to put him in a kennel until she got back."

"Seemed silly to do so. I'm perfectly capable of tending to one cat for a week," he said reasonably as he puttered in the kitchen pulling out cups.

"Yeah, I know you are," Toby had spread out over Mary's bulging tummy and was purring quite contentedly. Mary smiled and scratched behind its ears. Maybe, once the baby was home and settled, they could get a cat too. "Molly seemed so insistent that she didn't want to bother you with her cat, though."

"I know. Actually," he paused, "I had to convince her to let me take care of Toby."

Mary tilted her head in his direction, but didn't have enough range of motion to actually see him. "Why would you do that? She gave you the perfect out."

"_That's_ why," he said with emphasis, "Molly has done so much for me, stupid, sometimes dangerous, things. She says it's all right, but I just can't fathom what I could possibly give her in return. I just wanted to make some sort of gesture." He paused and laughed a bit, "I suppose, as gestures go, this one is a little odd."

"We all do silly things sometimes."

"Yes, we do"

Mary heard his voice above her head and looked up in time to hear the click from his camera phone. She scowled and he grinned, walking around her chair as he sent the image into the ether.

"Molly said that to me once," Sherlock said, pocketing his phone. "I didn't understand why until she agreed to be my..._mine_. Now I find myself..."

"...yeah, me too," Mary said, rubbing her belly.

* * *

_Did Mary send you a copy of this? ~John_

Yes! I looked at it in the middle of a hematology lecture and I had to excuse myself ~Molly

Did you get this one from Sherlock? ~Molly

_OH. MY. GOD. I'm framing this and putting it on the mantle. ~John_

Didn't we agree that the two of them shouldn't be unsupervised? If the world blows up, I'm blaming you. ~Molly

_No, blame Mycroft. It's always a safe bet to blame Mycroft ~John_

Yes. I see your point. ~Molly

But John. TOBY IS THERE. ~Molly

_Three criminal masterminds in 221b at the same time. HIDE THE CHILDREN ~John_

They'll have initiated a coup by the time I get home ~Molly

_We can roast marshmallows over the riot fires ~John_


End file.
